The riding lesson
by annagallis
Summary: A pleasant surprise for Percy Blakeney. Schmaltz again I'm afraid - but at least it's spellchecked...


_The riding lesson_

Once again she watched enviously as, with one smooth movement, he swung himself up and into the saddle. He made it look so easy, she reflected, partly through skill and long custom, but also because he was not encumbered, as she was, by skirts and the wretched side-saddle, which she loathed. As usual, he had lifted her on to Cygnet's back and waited, with no sign of impatience, whilst she arranged and re-arranged the folds of the redingote around and beneath her so that it would not pull, and adjusted and re-adjusted her seat until she could feel the pommel of the saddle firm behind her knee; she wondered if she would ever feel truly secure on horseback, and she was glad, as always, of Cygnet's quiet disposition and steady gait.

The little grey mare was perfect for her and she was thankful for Sam's judgement; during his wooing of Marguerite, Percy had instructed his Head Groom to seek out a suitable mount, hoping that if he won her hand, his new Parisian wife ― quite unused to horses ― might learn to ride, and accompany him in one of the pursuits he most enjoyed when at home. Those hopes had all been dashed when the long period of their estrangement had begun, and after he had brought Marguerite to England, Cygnet had languished unridden in the stables for months. Eventually, in the bitterness of disappointed hopes, he had announced to Sam that he wished the horse to be sold. Sam, however, had demurred, explaining, to his astonishment, that Milady had taken a fancy to the mare and was like to be distressed if the animal was sold.

It transpired that Sam was right: unlikely as it may have seemed, having at first visited the stables out of mere curiosity during one of Percy's long absences, Marguerite had indeed formed a bond with the little grey; and although Sam knew that she would stroke the animal's neck and flanks, speaking softly all the while in what he presumed was French, he never knew – and nor did Percy until much later – that something in the creature's air of quiet resignation had struck a chord in Marguerite and, in the unhappiness and loneliness which then pervaded most of her days, when sure of being unobserved she would sometimes weep silently against Cygnet's neck, her tears marking the glossy coat, while Cygnet stood quite still as if in mute sympathy.

Now those days were past, Marguerite had expressed the wish to learn how to ride horseback so that she could join Percy, at first on sedate excursions around the park but eventually, perhaps, also further afield. Percy had been delighted, and had begun teaching her himself, although he also entrusted her to Sam – and only Sam – when he was away. Now one of her chief pleasures, when Percy was at home, was to ride beside him, at least some distance, to be with him as much as she could before he left again.

Today they were going to ride together up on to the down overlooking the house; it was a beautiful spring morning filled with birdsong and faintly scented by the drifts of bluebells under the trees along the drive. They rode down to the turnpike road, where they crossed into the Blakeney woods opposite the park. The air here was cool, and the sunlight – otherwise filtered through the vibrant green of the pleated young beech leaves – here and there streamed down in brilliant shafts into clearings made by Percy's woodsmen to allow the light on to young trees. The bridleway ran straight and they followed it to the foot of the down, where the trees gradually thinned as the ground began to rise. Here there was an iron fence and a gate which he leaned down and unfastened, allowing her to go through ahead of him.

The path on the other side of the gate was narrower, with brambles on either side, and as she stopped and turned to wait whilst he closed the gate, her riding habit caught on a long arching briar. The more she pulled, the more tangled the fine wool became in the thorns. Seeing her predicament, he took his knife out of his boot and simply cut the stem, then carefully unhooked it right along its length. As she watched his deft movements she reflected that there were not many men who would have had the patience: most, she thought, would have ripped the briar away and torn the cloth. "There," he said, "not much damage done. At least it did not catch your face, sweetheart." She smiled at him and they rode on in companionable silence for a few moments.

"I wish I could ride as you do, Percy", she suddenly said.

"My Margot, you have come on in leaps and bounds since you started – you're fast becoming a very competent horsewoman indeed! But you must try to remember, dearest, how much longer I have been riding than you: sink me, it must be more than twenty years!"

"Gallant as always, my husband: I think you are being kind, to encourage me! But you misunderstand me, Percy."

"Beg pardon, m'dear; how so?"

At this point the path had become so narrow that they could not ride abreast and, as he fell back and she rode on ahead, she replied,

"I meant, Percy, that I wish I were able to ride in breeches, as you do!"

He almost gasped with astonishment.

He was glad – unusually – not to be alongside her: of the opportunity to arrange his face. Completely taken aback by what she had said, he marvelled at her continuing capacity to surprise him. The vision then entered his mind's eye, unbidden, of his wife's long slender legs clad in close-fitting breeches and top boots – and some moments passed whilst he dwelt on the delightful picture. Eventually, suddenly aware that she had ridden some way ahead, he urged his horse on again to catch her up; but had she been in earnest?

"Breeches, my dear? Imagine the scandal: my lady Blakeney seen riding out in man's clothes! A pleasant conceit, though, Margot..."

"Nay, Percy, I did not speak in jest, but in serious vein. It would be so much easier than all these petticoats and skirts – they are ridiculous on horseback! I may perhaps consider purloining a pair of your riding breeches to try," she said thoughtfully.

He did not know what to say; indeed he was quite lost for words. By Gad, she had spirit, his wife; but he doubted she entirely understood how horrified polite English society would profess itself to be once word got out – and it certainly would – that Lady Blakeney was wearing _breeches_ , and how much opprobrium would be poured upon her head in some quarters, for what would be perceived as the behaviour of a loose woman. Even allowing for the standing he and she enjoyed in Society, which was commonly acknowledged, and the fact that his wife was admired as a setter of fashions, he was only too well aware of the storm she would bring down if she chose to thumb her nose at convention in this way.

All the same, there was that quite irrestistible picture in his mind...

Perhaps they would take the view that, as a Frenchwoman, she could be allowed a _faux pas_ occasionally...!

Perhaps she would begin a trend – and ladies all over the country would begin wearing their husband's breeches! Although, he reflected with an amused smile to himself, there were some whom the new fashion might not show to quite such advantage: Lady Cavendish, now, was rather broad in the beam ...

"Ahem!" His wife's voice suddenly broke into his musings; "Sir Percy Blakeney, are you in some reverie?"

He started, and spurred his horse on to catch up again to where she was waiting.

"So sorry, m'dear, beg pardon. I was just, er, considering what you had said. Are you truly in earnest, Margot?"

Before she could answer, he said ― trying manfully to maintain a serious expression ― "I think it makes much good sense for a lady to ride in breeches: much safer, after all, to be able to dispense with the side-saddle" (he was rather pleased with himself for being able to _sound_ as if he was bringing rational thought to bear on the topic), "but I rather fear you don't realise quite what a furore there would be, dearest; it would be seen as such a damaging thing to a lady's reputation!"

"Well, perhaps you are right, Percy; but all the same, I believe it may be worth trying – if you think you could _bear_ it," she said with a merry laugh, "if your wife were to become the subject of such gossip!" Then, suddenly becoming serious as was her habit, she said, "Will you help me, Percy? I can't manage this if you won't!"

Knowing that once her mind was quite made up about something, there was no dissuading her, he realised that it would probably be more expedient indeed to help her; and so it was that Godfrey Mason, Esquire, of London, Maker of Fine Apparel to the Gentry, soon found himself summoned to Blakeney Manor; not to wait upon his usual client Sir Percy, but, it transpired to Mr Mason's utter confusion, upon Sir Percy's wife.

It not being proper, of course, for Mr Mason to take Lady Blakeney's measurements himself, her maid Louise was the go-between, which owing to Louise's as-yet less-than-perfect command of English made the task for Mr Mason a somewhat awkward one; however, it was not without good reason that his business was patronised by Sir Percy, as he was both expert and discreet, and he left the house some while later with a complete set of measurements and the instruction to make for Lady Blakeney a pair of breeches, and a riding-habit for her to wear over them, to be designed in such a style as would at least partly conceal the fact that she was not riding side-saddle, but _astride_ her mount as a gentleman would. At first quite bemused by the notion, he began to relish the challenge of creating such an unusual garment, and to anticipate how he might be able to make it obviously a lady's article, without drawing undue attention to its purpose.

The breeches, as being by far the simpler of the two commissions, were ready for fitting very soon afterwards and he made an appointment to return to the Manor for this purpose. Marguerite was looking forward to seeing them and so, it appeared, was Percy, who unaccountably found himself at a loose end that morning, with nothing to do but to look out of the window down the drive, where he just happened to see the coach bringing Mr Mason – and the breeches. He heard the bell, the low voices in the hall, the footsteps rising to the upper floor, and then the quiet: Mason must be in Marguerite's rooms; maybe Louise was helping her don the breeches at this very moment – he confessed to himself that he was rather excited at the thought of how she would look and he dwelt upon the imagined result for some time... Gad but it was becoming a really unexpectedly warm day!

Eventually he heard footsteps descending again and Mason taking his leave; only a few moments more and he himself was climbing the stairs two at a time. He went straight to Marguerite's door and gave his usual light tap; Louise opened the door to him and he passed into his wife's salon. Louise left the apartment although there was no sign of Marguerite; but the door to her dressing-room was standing open and he could hear slight movements within. Crossing to the doorway he looked into the room: she was standing in front of the cheval glass, turning first this way and then that, appraising the novel view from all sides. She was clad in chemise, corset and stockings: and the breeches.

He could barely believe how feminine she looked in this man's garment; he had imagined, often since she had first made the suggestion, how they would accentuate her figure; but this, _this_ exceeded all his expectations. Mason had excelled himself; the soft curves of her hips and behind were deliciously outlined, her shapely thighs revealed, and the fine, delicately-striped cloth touched without clinging, in such a way that Percy could quite see why people would say the garment was indecent; but to his eyes it was a delight.

As she smoothed and tightened the cloth here and there, turning and turning back, she suddenly caught sight of his reflection in the glass, and, keeping her back to him, she said, "Well here they are, Percy; what do you think?"

His eyes met hers.

"I scarcely know what to say, Margot. It may not be often that I am rendered speechless, but I am entranced!"

She giggled delightedly. "I am glad you like them – afterwards I wondered if perhaps I had entreated overmuch. I think they will be a boon when I come riding with you; I am sure I shall feel so much more secure if I can dispense with the side saddle!"

"Mmm... yes m'dear, of course" he replied absent-mindedly. He could not decide if the rear view, or the reflected image from the front was the more pleasing, but however it was he could not tear his eyes away from the unfamiliar image and although he hesitated to admit it even to himself, his gaze tended to dwell on where the fall would have been; the parting of her thighs by the garment was altogether disconcerting and he found himself growing rather heated again...

He slowly crossed the room to where she stood and slipped his arms around her, pulling her back against him; she put both arms up behind her to pull his head down to hers and her whole body seemed to open up to him. He buried his face in her hair. The boning in her stays felt hard against him but below that, her behind and her thighs, divided from him only by the thin cloth, were so soft and yielding that he was sure she must feel his arousal. There was only one thing he wanted to do now ...

"Oh Margot", he breathed into her hair, "I need – can we ― "

"Yes, and yes," she whispered, "now ..."

 _The end_


End file.
